Judge — January 10, 1931 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

JUDGE “Where the Young Men’s Feet Are Turning” By Stanley Jones V Jiutex Sanford and I got off at the © man—wait ‘til you see him = work.” little Nova Scotia station, the We hit into the woods that night, guide met us. “G I said aside, “1 my ne thought guides wore corduroy, and ably. flannel shirts, and moccasins. He looks like a day laborer in those old overalls and ‘that’ cap." Sanford bristled. “You've been look tion posters. This guy boots paining me consider- Maybe they'll soften up,” said Simon heartily. “Though Mr. Post's didn't—he em to me. What size even,” T said. "5 mine, too. If they got an ext air of No sense in letting your “C ammuni- hurt you, sa real woods- sneakers, 2 ee CF O°LL SEE OF ME, LAREDO LARRY, LAUGHED THE POET LARIAT You mean to tell me it’s your first year in Yale and you only went hot, cold, and Delta Kappa Pepsodent? “Didn't I hear a sound like kissing in here?” bawled Rubber Stamp 89433, the Irate Father. “No, you old heel,” spat Stencil 27, the Cheeky Daughter. “We were only playing a game of billiards!” 10 are) feet hurt you, heh, Mr. Sanford?” They routed me from uneasy toss- ing on pine boughs at a ghastly hour. “Rise and shine,” roared Sanford. “You're in the woods now, boy!" He quoted, “ ‘Where the young men’s feet are turning, to the paths of proved desire and known deligh' That bird Kipling could say it, . He filled his deep chest clammy while I cowered in’ my nkets. Hey, Simon,” he called, “Il make a woodsman out of this dude yet, hey? Show him how to use the axe.” I split wood and blistered my hands while they sat and watched. Their talk was mostly of women, veering occasionally to moose that Si- mon had slain, I wondered if there could be a © moose left alive in the province. “That's enough,” said Sanford at last. “Now teach him how to fry bacon and potatoes, Si- mon.” Later, they fried their own. And initiated me into the fascinating mystery of washing the dishes with sand and handfuls of moss. “Grow him how to tie a fly,” sug gested Sanford, filling his pipe. “We'll cross the lake, make the carry, y the trout at Beaver Dam. I y, if you haven't paddled much, you'd better take the bow. Try to watch Simon—he’s a wizard. And I'll sit in the middle.” It seemed quite a journey. Perhaps because they became so heated over the re- spective merits of the Parmachence Belle and the Silver Docto; imon frequently 1 ross the gunwa ate his point with both hands. lly worked the craft across by ig in on alternate sides. San- ford got out and picked up the rods and the shotgun. He looked at me critically. “You'd better take the canoe: you're soft as a dead mouse. mon’ll|—" “Looks pretty heavy,” I said. “And these confounded boots—” “She's easy,” said Simon. “Seventy pounds—pooh! I fix those boots.” He pulled a pair of soiled brown sneakers, from his pack, stuffing my boots into their place. “Voila,” he “Now you comfortable, heh?” hat’s the stuff,” said Sanford. “There's nothing that Simon can’t fix! 27) (Continued on pag comicbooks.com